


ねこのキャプテン | Captain of Cats

by Kimra



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Basically married, Bucky Barnes Has Cats, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Cats, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Just Add Kittens, Violence (mention), ねこあつめ | Neko Atsume: Kitty Collector - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-06 18:00:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20295652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimra/pseuds/Kimra
Summary: Whenever he's stressed Bucky plays Neko Atsume, just he's stressed all the time and a little embarrassed about it all.





	ねこのキャプテン | Captain of Cats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gammarad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gammarad/gifts).

> I do not speak Japanese. Hopefully the title works.

“What are you doing?” Steve lent over the phone to see the screen, and just as quickly Bucky tilted the screen down and away from Steve’s prying eyes and turned it off for good measure.

“Looking at pornography.” He said bluntly, and Steve recoiled eyes averted in embarrassment.

“Oh, okay.” Steve scratched the back of his neck, looked out the floor to roof windows, and shuffled off to leave Bucky alone.

Satisfied Bucky flipped his phone back up eyes catching the lack of movement from near the sing before he’d unlocked it completely. He turned to see what Sam’s problem was and found the guy staring dead at him.

“Problem?” He checked, and even though Sam squinted at him suspiciously, looked around the kitchen they were in and he didn’t call Bucky on it, settling on getting his glass of water and returning to the living room.

“Porn, right.” He heard the birdman mutter before he’s left hearing range. Same Wilson knew Bucky could hear him just fine, and Bucky decided to put a dead mouse under his pillow if he said anything whatsoever to Steve. Then he flipped his phone back on to see who was in his yard, and what food dishes needed refilling. The twitch of little pixilated cats calmed him down and he embraced every little spark of serotonin his body released as he tapped away.

“No really,” Steve interrupted, “What are you doing?” They’re mid mission, there’s more blood than dirt on all of them, and Steve’s not out of breath, but all the normal humans are exhausted. Bucky’s not quite ‘normal’ but he’s not up there with Steve, so he’s got a shake in his left hand, and he’s shoulder aches from the weight of his metal arm.

They were having a breather mid op and he’d taken the moment to slip his phone out, scrub the grime off his flesh hand and check on his cats. Hawkeye had his phone out too, but no-one was asking him what he was doing. “Hawkguy has his phone out too.” He points out, because porns just gonna excite Natasha’s interest and he needs a few more seconds to think of a better cover story.

“He’s playing Candy Crush.” Steve was quick to say. “He never remembers to turn the sound of, even mid opp.” It’s said as a dig, but Hawkeyes got his eyes on the screen and his hearing aid hanging down around his shoulders because he just doesn’t care.

“I’m-” He judges the room, Natasha, Clint, Steve and the Giant-Mini guy, “watching porn.” He says helplessly.

The Giant-Mini guy snorts on the drink he’s drinking, Natasha glances at him suspiciously, but worst of all Clint Barton somehow realises what’s been said and says entirely too loudly, “Are we talking about Bucky-boy’s addiction to Neko Atsume?”

Giant-Mini man who Bucky’s never gonna let himself remember the real name of, inhales his drink and starts to splutter, bright red and hopefully dying. Natasha twitches a smile, and pats Clint’s betrayer ankle, and Steve just looks more confused.

“It’s a game.” Bucky explains, “Don’t worry about it. Nadia says it’s good.” Which is the right thing to say because Steve thinks Nadia is some sort of god for sitting there listening to Bucky complain about how angry he is that he can’t open a jar of pickles without using his Nazi arm, and that he forgot to wash his clothes three days in a row, again. Nadia can do no wrong so far as Steve is concerned.

“Well, if it helps.” He agrees happily and doesn’t ask any more questions.

Bucky checks his game cautiously, angling the screen away from Steve the whole time, but the man doesn’t try to look again and when Clint sits up and stretched his arms up to pop his shoulders there’s a unanimous decision to press on.

He doesn’t think about it again. It proves a mistake.

“I may have made a mistake.” Steve’s stressed voice says through the line, and Bucky drops everything, at attention and waiting for the mission report before he starts to act. He’s three blocks from a cache he swore he didn’t have, fifteen minutes from Star Tower and the bigger guns, twenty-five from their apartment at a dead run where Steve keeps everything that matters to him, and there’s a jeep out on the street the douchebag at the table next to him has his keys out on the hard wood surface just waiting for Bucky. It might slow his movements through New York traffic, but if he needs to ram someone or thing it’ll help.

Steve squeaks, not cries out in pain, not groans, squeaks and there’s another noise down the line Bucky can’t quite make out.

“Where are you?” He prioritises, but Steve’s tone, although frantic isn’t setting of panic switches in his brain.

“I’m home.” Steve breathes, “Look Bucky I’m-”

“Which home?” He interrupts, and Steve sputters in offense.

“We live together, we share a bed! Buck how many other homes do you have?”

Bucky doesn’t deal with that issue, doesn’t explain to Steve that he’s never quite sure if he ‘belongs’ of if he’s just filling a space until Steve figures out he can do better. Never explains that the house is Steve’s, or Sam’s, but never his. Instead he grabs the guys jeep keys without the guy noticing and calculates the fasted way to get there with his foot heavy on the gas pedal. He doesn’t feel even the slightest bit guilty about the theft, the guy had shouted at the girl behind the counter, then laughed about it when he got back to the table and his friends.

Bucky breaks several other minor laws and dumps the car a block from the apartment, snapping the key in the ignition because he feels spiteful, and sprints the rest of the way home.

He flings open their door, shuts it sharply when Steve shouts out, “Don’t let them escape!” and readies for a fight after all.

He’s two steps in, silent feet and listening for the assailant, when he hears the tinniest most pathetic of mews that has ever graced his ears. He stops, looks down, and finds the smallest ball of ginger floof stumbling on its tiny stubby legs. “What?” He says and does not move.

“Can you bring him back? Or her? I- How can you tell if they’re boys or girls?” Steve pleads, and he sounds overrun, but there’s no threat. Bucky looks at the little thing, tiny, so tiny, his fest is bigger than its adorable precious self and he freezes in terror. The little thing finds the edge of his boot, steps on the toe and raises itself up higher, tiny head lifting and its big blue eyes clock him before it releases the loudest most piteous noise something that size could possibly ever make. “Bucky?” Steve calls helplessly, “I, ah, I’m kind of stuck.” He says and Bucky’s left with abandoning Steve, or dealing with the tiny breakable gift from god trying to climb his shoelaces.

He breathes deep, tells himself he can do it (he can’t he knows he can’t) and bends down to detach the thing before it hurts itself. The thing senses his warmth before he’s even touched it, and instead of flinching away from him it’s entire body collapses sideways towards his hand. He catches the idiot thing and freezes again until he’s sure he hasn’t hurt it, and then he reaches down with his metal hand and cups it below the human one in case of error and lifts the disaster kitten up to his chest where he can keep it safe. The thing yawns with tiny sharp teeth and its head snuggles down against his chest and stays. He wonders if it can hear his pounding heartbeat, wonders how the little gossamer ball can sleep through the noise of it.

“Buck?” Steve calls again, and Bucky forges on. Stepping right into their little lounge room and the sight that greats him is too much to process.

“What?” He demands, sharper than perhaps he should, but Steve just shrugs and the little black and white on his shoulder tumbles. Bucky can’t rush forwards and catch it, because he’s still to terrified of crushing the ginger one he’s sworn to protect until his dying breath, but it’s okay because the little thing rolls over on Steve’s thigh like nothing’s happened and starts to dig little claws in through Steve’s shirt and climb right back up. Steve makes a little flinching motion, but doesn’t move, which is reasonable because there are seven other tiny breathing kittens on the man. One is asleep on his right hand, sprawled out belly up, another is perched on his head like it’s conquered a mountain and Bucky can see it’s using little claws to keep its balance, two are fighting for territory on his chest, rolling over the remaining three that have decided to nap in a pile over his knees.

Steve’s one free hand stops the little play fight from tumbling off the couch, and one of them takes advantage to wrap itself around his wrist and try and murder him. It’s completely ineffectual and positively the most adorable thing Bucky as ever seen. He pulls his phone out, ignores Steve’s outraged cry, and takes a photo. He can’t text it with his meta hand, but he’s going to send it to every single person he’s ever exchanged a single word with in this century because no-one should be denied the glory that is this moment.

“So,” Bucky steps in close, catches one of the ruffians by the scruff and gently rearranges it on Steve’s lap. It goes pliantly and looks only a little confused to be somewhere new when he sets it down. Absently he pats a finger against its head and it leans into that before stumbling, yawning and wading into the pile of its siblings to find the perfect sleeping spot. “What happened?” He feels reasonably calm now. Ginger in his hands hasn’t stirred, Steve is out of his element, and he hasn’t killed anything yet.

Steve smiles hopefully up at him and explains, “You like cats?”

The man’s lucky Bucky loves him as much as he does.

Doesn’t mean he’s not going to make the man explain the new house guests to Sam.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was longer than intended.


End file.
